


absence (makes the heart grow fonder)

by amsves



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Coffee, Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Family Feels, Feelings Realization, Moving In Together, Post-Episode: s03 Miraculer, if the writers wont acknowledge the damaging side effects of the peacock then I WILL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 01:58:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18982891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amsves/pseuds/amsves
Summary: When she doesn’t use her Miraculous abilities, the recovery time for Nathalie is short. Gabriel knows that it’s a temporary arrangement, that Nathalie might be able to handle the strain now but that soon her body won’t be able to keep up. But Nathalie promised she would do anything, swore up and down that she was all in on Gabriel’s plan, and Gabriel has no reason to doubt her.Nathalie is not immune to the effects of the peacock Miraculous. Gabriel is not immune to Nathalie.





	absence (makes the heart grow fonder)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corvusam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusam/gifts).



> For Sam, the best cheerleader, mutual, and Mayura fangirl one could ask for <3
> 
> I've been working on this since Miraculer aired and I'm so relieved to finally toss it into the uncaring void. Enjoy!

The first time Nathalie dons the peacock Miraculous and becomes Mayura, she is transformed for a little under twenty minutes.

Gabriel finds her collapsed on the lair floor, and carries her gingerly into the living room.

Between coughs which wrack her whole body, Nathalie tells him that she’ll do anything to aid in his plan, regardless of the damage she would take. Gabriel tells her it won’t happen again.

Nathalie misses the next day of work. Adrien inquires as to her absence, and Gabriel has the Gorilla explain to his son that Gabriel does not want Adrien catching Nathalie’s cold.

Now, with the bee Miraculous within reach, Gabriel wishes he hadn’t promised Nathalie anything.

She takes the form of Mayura again and again and again, each time spying on the Bourgeois daughter. How frustrating, that Ladybug never shows up to bestow the power of the bee on Chloe, but it must be worse for Chloe herself. Always waiting, always hoping. Soon, she will break. She’ll be on his side soon enough.

When she doesn’t use her Miraculous abilities, the recovery time for Nathalie is short. She leaves work early, gets a good night’s sleep, and comes in late the next day. Gabriel knows that it’s a temporary arrangement, that Nathalie might be able to handle the strain now but that soon her body won’t be able to keep up. He’s seen firsthand what the peacock Miraculous can do. But Nathalie promised she would do anything, swore up and down that she was all in on Gabriel’s plan, and Gabriel has no reason to doubt her.

Their time is up when they fail to akumatise Chloe Bourgeois, and the bee Miraculous is lost to them yet again. Mayura stands behind Hawkmoth, ashamed of her failure, and Gabriel stares ahead, ashamed of … something.

“Queen Bee will change her mind,” he says as the window closes. She has to. They’re both giving up too much for this plan to fail.

* * *

 

“Father?” Gabriel looks up to see Adrien as he enters the dining room, the surprise on his face quickly overtaken by enthusiasm. “It’s rare for you to join me for breakfast.”

“Yes, well.” Gabriel takes a sip of his coffee. It’s terrible. Or maybe it’s just normal coffee. Nathalie always made such a perfect brew that his taste buds might be ruined now. “I wanted to inform you that Nathalie will be taking the week off.”

Adrien’s forehead creases. “She’s been taking a lot of time off recently, right? Why all of a sudden?”

“Well, uh.” Gabriel butters a croissant while he searches for the answer. “She realized that she had built up quite the quantity of vacation days. I encouraged her to start cashing in on her hard-earned rest now, before work picks up again in the fall.”

Adrien nods and takes his place at the table. Gabriel finishes his croissant and excuses himself.

He retreats to his lair, but it feels strange now. What used to be his fortress of solitude had been for just a little while now a place for two, co-conspirators for a common goal. He finds it difficult to focus now, without his assistant two steps behind him, slightly to his right.

_Nathalie, giving the detransformation command with a shaky breath. Nathalie, immediately collapsing to the floor as Duusu flew out of the broach. Nathalie, even more deathly pale than usual. Nathalie, cradled in Gabriel’s arms. Was she lighter now? Or was he getting used to carrying his incapacitated accomplice out of the lair?_

_“Move in with us,” he had suggested once, after an unsuccessful stakeout._

_“It would be suspicious,” she had countered._

He knows she was right. But he should have insisted. He could see it in his mind’s eye, her eyes getting wide as he demanded they ignore the logical course of action. She would try to stiffen her face, but a small smile would creep on just the same. Maybe that would be enough to make her agree, or maybe he would have to wear her down. Either way, eventually one of the several spare bedrooms in the Agreste mansion would have to be dusted, cleaned, and prepped for a permanent guest.

Was she a fan of nature? The bedroom on the second floor had a balcony right above the gardens. Gabriel had stood out there before, one evening long ago, and the scent of the roses had been so fragrant they might as well have been in his face.

Was she the kind of person who liked a view? There was a room on the third floor with a window overlooking the rooftops. No balcony, but the window opened enough to let the breeze in.

Was she above such frivolous things? Maybe she would prefer a room on the first floor, to be close to the kitchen and to avoid taking the stairs first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She was always a practical woman.

Gabriel shakes his head and leaves the lair. The sun is already past its maximum. His silly daydreams had cost him the entire morning. Who knows how many potential akuma victims he had ignored because of his useless musings.

His second cup of coffee tastes worse than the first.

He doesn’t join Adrien for dinner.

He goes to bed early, but doesn’t sleep at all.

* * *

 

A Brief Overview of the Second Day Without Nathalie Sancoeur:

Gabriel wakes up, gets dressed, drags himself down to breakfast. The Gorilla hands him a cup of coffee and his tablet. He drinks the cup of mud and skims the news quickly before entering his office.

He attempts, unsuccessfully, for two hours to get any designing done. He turns to ask Nathalie for input no fewer than four times, before remembering that she is on leave, recovering. Fed up with himself, he spends the next two hours slowly filing paperwork, before breaking for lunch.

He has the kitchen staff make him a sandwich and a salad. When they ask him what he would like on his sandwich and what kind of dressing he would prefer, he balks. Nathalie had always taken care of minute things such as that. He rattles off the first things that come to mind. His lunch is awful.

After the disappointing lunch break, he heads to the _too-empty_ lair and transforms. His akuma victim of the day is a disgruntled child who has been forbidden from having a sleepover because they got a bad grade. Ladybug and Chat Noir do not give Chloe Bourgeois the Bee Miraculous, as is par for the course, nor do Rena Rouge and Carapace make an appearance. It appears that, since the attack is in the middle of the day, his power to prohibit people from closing their eyes is not too much of a threat, besides the inevitable dry-eye. Insomnia is soundly beaten.

A failed morning, a failed lunch, and a failed afternoon behind him, he resigns himself to a failed dinner.

It actually is not bad. There’s nothing wrong with his mushroom-stuffed ravioli, and the wine is an appropriate pairing. It’s simply lacking … something. What, Gabriel couldn’t say.

He has a sneaking suspicion he already knows.

He takes another stab at designing. The collection is due in just under a month, after all. He should be much closer to finishing than he is. His efforts turn out much like the morning’s.

Gabriel goes to bed early, and it’s only thanks to the exhaustion of the sleepless night before that he manages to rest at all.

* * *

 

“I miss Nathalie,” Adrien admits over breakfast the next day. “It’s kinda weird, right? She’s just your secretary. But, I dunno …” he trails off. “It feels empty here.”

“The house is full of staff,” Gabriel reminds his son. “If you need help, finding someone should not be a problem.”

“Yeah, I know.” Gabriel doesn’t need to look at Adrien’s face--lips turned down in a frown, bottom lip pouting ever so slightly--to know that that wasn’t what his son meant. He feels it, too.

* * *

 

Thursday.

Gabriel stares at the offending label on the calendar for far too long. Nathalie would have interrupted him, for sure. Maybe she would have been concerned, afraid that all the stress of being both king of the fashion world and Paris’ resident supervillain had finally gotten to him. Maybe she would have sensed he was lost in some unimportant thought and dragged him back to reality with a noise in her throat and the latest report. But Nathalie is far away, recovering from overuse of her Miraculous.

Meaning Gabriel has to tear himself away on his own.

Thursday.

How could it only be Thursday? Is it really only the fourth day of Nathalie’s mandated bed rest? It feels like a lifetime.

At what point is it appropriate to request her presence back in the mansion? He’s sure she would come running at the slightest inclination that she was required, or even desired. And that’s the problem, isn’t it. She’s always been too loyal for her own good, to the point of ruining her health to aid in his plans. That kind of loyalty is hard to come by, and Gabriel appreciates it. He’s quiet about his appreciation, sure, but surely Nathalie knows just how valued she is.

Maybe he should send her something just in case.

Wine would be his go-to, but there are a number of problems with that. For one, Nathalie is recovering from a magical illness. Sick people do not need alcohol, especially when their illness is a complete mystery. But, perhaps more importantly, he doesn’t know whether or not Nathalie even _likes_ wine.

He knows she drinks it, of course. When they have no choice to attend charity events, galas, or the like, both before the Incident and more recently, she always reaches for a glass on the tray of the first waiter that passes by, no matter what it holds. She nurses that drink well into the night. Always professional. It would be nothing short of scandal for the assistant of _the_ Gabriel Agreste to get drunk or even tipsy in a place with cameras and money.

But does she like drinking it, or is it just the fact that she has something to hold in her hands, something to occupy her lips when her conversation partner says something not worth a reply?

The longer they spend apart, the more obvious a certain uncomfortable truth becomes. Gabriel Agreste may know much about Nathalie Sancoeur, but he does not _know_ her. Not really.

Anyways. Wine is out. How about fruit?

Does she like fruit?

Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone likes fruit.

… he’ll send an assortment, just to be safe.

* * *

 

_Move in with me, he tries to say, but it comes out Marry me instead._

_Her breath catches, before it turns into a giggle and then a full-blown laugh. You didn’t mean to say that, she says knowingly, and he flushes. A Freudian slip, huh?_

_Don’t be ridiculous, he grumbles. He then realizes that he has put himself in a precarious situation. On one hand, denying the slip only leads one to believe that he said it on purpose, which is wrong. But to admit a mistake, to lose that kind of face … unacceptable._

_But he has to say something._

_He knows what it has to be._

_He opens his mouth to answer--_

Gabriel jerks awake in a cold sweat. He glances at the clock on his bedside table. The glowing green numbers inform him that it is just past midnight, now technically Friday. He sighs, closes his eyes, tries to settle back into sleep. Pulling double-duty as a villain and a fashion mogul requires plenty of rest.

… besides, he might have a passing interest in finding out what his answer was going to be.

* * *

 

He did it.

He successfully managed an entire work week without his assistant. HIs work doesn’t simply stop once the weekend starts, of course, but other people’s work stops, which means he can focus on the personal side of things. Like his desk.

It’s a mess.

It’s truly an insult to his company and his name, that Gabriel doesn’t remember his own filing system, but Nathalie had always taken care of that. She’d brought the mail in, sorted it into different piles based on sender, subject, and urgency of the matter. She’d always had forms and paperwork right on hand. She’d always taken the papers he’d handed her (or thrown at her, if his mood was particularly uncharitable) and whisked them away to who-knows-where. He did, once, certainly, when he created the system. But it’s been so long, and the system has evolved under the guidance of Nathalie’s touch, and now it doesn’t resemble anything he’d be able to understand.

No matter. She’ll be back shortly.

He pauses. Nathalie really will be back soon, won’t she? Today is Saturday, which means that tomorrow is Sunday. Nathalie should be ready to return on Monday, shouldn’t she? She’s never needed that long to recover. A week should be plenty of time.

The Agreste household would certainly fall apart if it wasn’t.

* * *

 

Gabriel is pacing.

That wasn’t particularly new or unusual behavior for him. All self-respecting supervillains had paced at least once, and he often gave into the habit when trying to work out a particularly difficult aspect of a design, or when making a tedious phone call, or any other time he simply couldn’t sit still.

But this time, it’s because he just doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Everything would go back to normal tomorrow. That was practically a given.

So why does he have the insatiable urge to go check up on Nathalie in person?

That was so entirely unprofessional that he wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to quit. It would be a blatant disregard for her privacy and personal time.

But would it really? She had been quiet all week, after all. He’d left her alone, recovering from a mysterious illness no one understood. What if she wasn’t recovering at all? What if she was getting worse?

What if she needed help?

Gabriel finds himself out the door and in the car before he can question himself again.

He rattles off her apartment’s address, grateful that he’d requested it all those days ago, _just in case_ . She’d quirked an eyebrow at that, wondered what sort of cases there could be where her boss would need to come to her apartment. She’d always referred to it as _apartment_ , or occasionally _place_ , never _home_ . _I’m going back_ , maybe, but never _I’m going home_.

The building she lived in is perfectly respectable. It isn’t located in a bad part of town, and isn’t in shambles or any state of disrepair. In short, it is a perfectly serviceable, middle-grade apartment complex in a perfectly serviceable, middle-grade part of the city. Neighbors didn’t stop to gawk when a finely-dressed man such as himself entered the premises, but they certainly watched him out of the corners of their eyes, discreetly wondering what business he might have here.

His business is none of theirs. He makes his way up the stairs (no elevator, the building was only four stories tall) to Nathalie’s second-floor apartment.

He takes a deep breath, and knocks on the door.

…

No answer.

Is she not in?

He knocks again.

He presses an ear against her door. There, within the apartment, is that …? It sounds like the shower running.

Oh.

The shower turns off. He hears a voice muttering-- _Nathalie, she’s alive,_ his traitorous heart murmurs--and the sound of bare feet padding across bare floors. And then, all of a sudden, she is there, standing in front of him.

“Ga-Mr. Agreste?”

He is silent, taking a long moment to drink her in. After getting out of the shower, she had slipped into a fluffy bathrobe, the same shade of purple as her favorite blazer. Her hair is still dripping; the floor where she stands beginning to accumulate the drops into a bit of a puddle. Her glasses are fogged slightly, probably from the humidity in the bathroom. But, most importantly, she is here. In front of him. Alive. Not paler than usual, not bleeding out, not collapsed on the floor from overworking.

Doing just fine.

Gabriel suddenly feels very silly. “Ah, well. You see, Nathalie, you haven’t said a word to me all week, and I was just wondering how your recovery was progressing …” he trails off, peering around her into her apartment. “I see you got my fruit delivery.”

“I did. Thank you, sir.” Nathalie takes a step back. “If you’d like to come in, sir, you can sit on the couch while I get dressed in something a bit more presentable? I can get you coffee or something …”

Gabriel feels his lips threatening to turn up in a smile. “That would be lovely, Nathalie.”

She smiles--a real smile, a rare edition--and steps back, welcoming him in. He closes the door behind him.

Her apartment is not what he was expecting. He doesn’t remember how long ago she had moved in, but years have surely passed. And yet, the space is so largely empty, so devoid of personal touches, that it might have passed for something out of a magazine. The room he sits in--the living room, he supposes--contains no personal photographs, only a few prints of a mountain, or a lake, or a forest, all taken by professional photographers. His eyes linger on the light cream walls, run over the beige sofa, take in the dust brown of the carpet. The coffee table, a darker brown, seems almost neon in comparison.

And yet, a few items mar the magazine aesthetic. A navy throw blanket, clearly handmade by someone not quite good at knitting yet, is tossed artfully over the back of the couch. Nathalie enters at that moment, now wearing pajamas under her robe, bringing with her two cups of coffee in mugs probably painted by children--her niece or nephew, perhaps? And all around them, the only breaks in the endless cream of the walls, perched on both end tables as well as the coffee table, mounted over the doorways, are cross-stitched proverbs about home.

Ironically enough.

Gabriel takes a sip of his coffee and a wave of contentment washes over his whole body. Nathalie raises an eyebrow as she sits down in an armchair and takes a sip of her own coffee. “It’s been so long since I had coffee that was actually drinkable,” he explains before taking another sip. “I never realized how terrible coffee could be. It’s just _coffee_ , how hard could it be to make a good cup, especially using the same supplies?” He takes another sip. “I was so wrong.”

Nathalie rests her mug on the coffee table. “That might be the first time I’ve ever heard you admit that you were wrong. Sir.”

Gabriel smirks, then takes another sip. “First time for everything, I suppose.”

They spend a moment in comfortable, coffee-filled silence. Gabriel alternates sips of coffee with proverbs. _A hundred men may make an encampment, but it takes a woman to make a home._ Sip _. Home is heaven for beginners._ Sip _. A good home must be made, not bought._ Sip.

_My home is not a place, it is people._

“So,” he begins, and her eyes flit from her coffee to him. “How are you?”

Nathalie studies him for a long moment. Then, she smiles, and then her smile turns into a quiet giggle, which morphs into a full-blown laugh. Gabriel is spellbound, helpless, unable to look away. Finally, Nathalie regains her composure, takes a deep breath, and looks him in the eyes.

“My Miraculous is literally killing me, but thanks for asking.”

Gabriel sits stunned as she takes another sip of her coffee.

“So, uh,” he tries again, “Do you knit?”

Nathalie looks confused. Gabriel runs his hand along the blanket on the couch, and understanding dawns on her face. “Oh, no. My sister does. She made that, and just about everything else here that’s homemade. She’s just one of those people.”

“You have a sister?”

Nathalie’s lips turn up at the ends. “Two, actually. I’m the middle child. It’s the older sister who made all this stuff. She says that she just makes it because she’s bored, but she’s trying to soften me up, I’m sure of it. There’s no way any one person has enough free time to make all this, especially since she has two kids in preschool.” She pauses. “She’s always thought I was too stiff, too sharp. If she thinks she’s being subtle, then, well, she’s terribly mistaken.”

“That explanation seems much more in line with the Nathalie I know,” Gabriel agrees. “I couldn’t believe that you would spend your little free time knitting and cross-stitching sentimental phrases, especially not when you don’t have a single photo of yourself, your friends, or your family here.”

Nathalie glanced around the room. “You’re right. I guess I don’t.”

“Any reason?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have photos of myself because I don’t like being photographed, simple as that. Plus, decorating my apartment with pictures of myself just seems silly and vain. As for family and friends … I don’t know, really. I just never got any developed or printed.”

They lapse into silence again. It’s not uncomfortable, it never is with them. Until Nathalie breaks it.

“Sir, why did you come to my apartment today?”

He places his coffee mug down carefully, runs his palms down his pant legs, takes a deep breath. “I was worried.” He swallows. “We don’t know much about your Miraculous and the damage it causes, and I just had a thought earlier that you could be bleeding out or collapsed on the floor or dead already and I--”

“You?” Nathalie prompts.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t any of those things.”

 _Nathalie’s natural smile is so beautiful and genuine_ , he thinks. _It’s a shame she doesn’t show it more often_.

“I appreciate your concern. Sir.”

“You can stop with the ‘sir’ for now, Nathalie, since we’re in your apartment on your day off. It would be callous of me to demand professionalism of you on a day of sick leave.”

The silence, this time, feels oppressive. Nathalie doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps she is a better actress than he ever noticed. Perhaps--most likely--this is due to his earlier confession and then dismissal of established norms. They have never interacted in a way that wasn’t laced with business undertones, coated with a veneer of professionalism. This casual conversation … it’s new, and it’s beyond him.

“Gabriel,” Nathalie starts, and he twitches. “You look like you still have something to say.”

Does he? He saw what he came to see, did what he came to do. Nathalie is indeed alive and well, and not passed out alone in her apartment. Oh, but he did want to confirm that she’s coming back to work tomorrow as scheduled.

“Are you coming back tomorrow?” he tries to say, but it comes out, “Are you coming home tomorrow?”

Nathalie’s cheeks flush a light pink, but Gabriel knows his must be much darker. “Er, that is to say, I was wondering if you would be alright to come back to work tomorrow,” he adds quickly. “As I explained earlier, I may just give up entirely if I have to drink another bad cup of coffee, and--”

“I should be fine to return tomorrow,” she interrupts, saving him from his own ramblings. “I think the cross-stitch is getting to you.” He must look confused, because she continues, “All the sayings about home? Did you read one of them by accident as you were speaking?”

No. “Ah, yes. That’s probably it.”

She’s toying with him. She has to be. There’s no way she doesn’t remember, no way she isn’t doing this on purpose in her rare moment of invulnerability. Is she messing with him? Or is she just giving him an easy out, acknowledging that neither of them really want to have that conversation again?

It’s just her, actually, who doesn’t want to talk. But Gabriel came here for a reason, and one doesn’t take over the fashion world and half of Paris by being a quitter.

“I’m glad you’re feeling up to returning to the mansion tomorrow,” he says levelly. “I was wondering if you would feel up to staying there full-time.”

Nathalie sinks back into her chair. “This again,” she sighs, and Gabriel bristles.

“Hear me out--”

“Gabriel, we’ve been over this. I’m your assistant. I’m not your housekeeper or Adrien’s nanny, and I’m not part of the family. It would be severely improper and unprofessional of me--”

“I’m scared.”

His words were barely above a whisper, but Nathalie had to have heard them. “What did you say?” she whispers back, disbelief coloring her voice.

“I’m scared,” he repeats. It’s too hard to meet her eyes, so he watches the coffee swirl lazily in the mug. “I didn’t find you on the floor today, I didn’t walk in and find your body, I didn’t see you coughing up blood, but who’s to say what I’ll find next time? Your Miraculous that you foolishly insist on using is _killing_ you, Nathalie. I know you said so earlier, but do you understand the implications of that? Because I do. And I’m terrified of losing you.” He looks up. “Are-are you crying?”

Nathalie shakes her head no, but it’s a moot point when she reaches over to the couch and starts wiping her tears with the navy blanket. “I,” she starts, but her voice breaks.

“Do you understand now?” he asks softly, handing her  his handkerchief. “Why I asked you back then, and why I’m asking again now? I could lose you for good. You’re right about some things; you’re not the housekeeper or the nanny, but you _are_ family, and you have been for a very long time.”

Nathalie sniffles in response, and Gabriel takes a deep breath to steel himself. “So, Nathalie Sancoeur, I ask you this one more time: will you move in with me?” She hesitates, and he adds, “I know Adrien would love it. He was just saying how empty it felt without you there.”

Nathalie nods, barely at first and then again and again. She’s a mess, her face blotchy and shiny from tears. She’s a vision, honestly. She clears her throat, and Gabriel could swear the sun shining in from the window brightened at that very moment. “When you say it like that, how could I say no?”

Gabriel tries to keep his face neutral when he says, “Very well, then. Let’s start getting your things ready. What do you want to take with you?”

“Wait, Gabriel, my lease isn’t up for another two months,” she protests, but he drains his cooled-off coffee and heads to the kitchen sink.

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about a thing. Just focus on this.”

“And when I’m all packed and ready? What will I focus on then?”

“Just focus on me. I’ll take it from there.”

Nathalie gives him a long look, and Gabriel thinks he might have taken it too far, but then she smiles and disappears into her bedroom. Gabriel takes out his phone and places a call to his son.

“Father?” Adrien says on the other end of the line. “Where are you? You never go out, and you missed a scheduled call--”

“Adrien, I need you to do something for me,” he interrupts, and Adrien falls silent. “I need you to alert the staff that I need one of the guest bedrooms cleaned immediately. When I have more details about what can stay and what should be thrown out, I will let them know. Furthermore, tell them--”

“Father, sorry, which bedroom should they prepare?”

Gabriel pulls the phone away from his ear. “Nathalie?”

She steps out of her bedroom. “Sir?”

“Which bedroom would you like?”

She thinks for a long moment before replying. “The one on the second floor, I think, would be nice. With the balcony overlooking the gardens?”

Gabriel nods and relays the information to Adrien, cutting off an excited ‘Is Nathalie moving in--’ before ending the call. He follows Nathalie into her room, helps her pack her sparse personal belongings into her few suitcases. Clothes take up two, books and a few miscellaneous items a third. He tells her to save space by not packing her cosmetics or toiletries, he’ll pay for all new ones. She glances around the bedroom and declares it sufficient.

They tour the kitchen, and into her final bag go a few of the hand-painted mugs; he’ll have to ask her the story behind those someday. She adds a few books from the living room, debates taking that same navy blanket before adding it as well. The apartment which was already so devoid of life is almost entirely empty.

She turns to face him. “What do I do about everything I’m not taking with me?”

He places a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take care of everything. I’ll arrange a moving company to come and take it to some charity.”

“Then,” she replies, taking one last look around the room, “I believe that I’m ready to go.”

“Not one of the cross-stitched proverbs made the cut?”

Nathalie shakes her head. “Camille will make more, I’m sure.”

“Still,” he adds, plucking one off the bookshelf, “I rather like this one. With your permission, I’d like to take it with us.”

Nathalie shrugs. “Suit yourself. When your house is overrun with them, don’t be upset with me.”

“Our,” he corrects her. “Our house, now.”

“Our house,” she amends. “Let’s go home.”

The ride home is simultaneously eternally long and so short Gabriel thinks he would have missed it had he blinked. They stand at the front door, side by side, and take a synchronized deep breath. They turn to each other, laugh at their own awkwardness, and push open the door to their home.

Adrien greets them at the door, excited and confused. The staff hurry to bring in Nathalie’s things and get her set up in her new room while also preparing dinner; Gabriel hadn’t even noticed, but it had gotten quite late. They sit down to eat, the three of them around the table, Nathalie still in her pajamas, and it’s foreign, so different from their previous arrangement--Adrien in his seat, Gabriel usually absent, Nathalie standing at attention--but so much better. Gabriel eyes the cross-stitch he’d saved from Nathalie’s apartment, placed on the sideboard, tucked out of the way, and smiles.

 _Peace--that was the other name for home_.

He feels content.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr!](http://www.skeletoncloset.tumblr.com)


End file.
